


Steal a Flowering Branch

by voleuse



Series: Broken Salt [2]
Category: Battlestar Galactica
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-19
Updated: 2005-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>And your hands and mine shall steal the stars</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steal a Flowering Branch

**Author's Note:**

> S1, no spoilers. Title and summary adapted from _In the night we shall go in_ by Pablo Neruda.

"You really," Kara tells him, digging her nails into his scalp, "really owe me for last time."

If Lee answers, she doesn't catch it, what with his mouth's current occupation.

"In fact," she continues, "you'll be lucky to get any jollies tonight at all."

He pulls away, rocks back on his heels. "Don't tell me you expect an apology."

"No." She rolls her eyes. "Just a little more attention."

"More than usual, you mean."

"Funny." She looks down, raises an eyebrow. "Well?"

"You know," he says, rubbing his jaw, "we could have done this in my quarters."

Kara glances around. "What do you mean?"

"A stall? In a public bathroom?" He shifts uncomfortably on the tile floor.

"So?" She frowns. "It's pretty clean."

"This is exactly what I'm talking abo--"

She leans, grabs his jaw. "Lee. Seriously." And kisses him, briefly, thoroughly.

When their lips part, he sighs, squints up at her. "Fine."

She smirks. Stands straight, leans against the partition behind her.

"Just," Lee inches forward, slides his palms around her calves. "Next time, I pick the location, okay?"

Kara hums as he licks a slow stripe up her thigh. "Whatever you say, sir."

He shoots a skeptical look at her, but she's already closing her eyes.

*

 

It's when a group of reporters clatters into the restroom that Kara concedes that Lee maybe, _just maybe_, had a point.

That doesn't mean he's allowed to stop, though.

From the sound of it, the flock is gathered by the mirrors near the door. They're exchanging gossip of the day, as well as makeup. They seem completely oblivious to what's going on in the third stall on the left.

After a minute of panicked immobilization, Kara nudges Lee's shoulder with her knee, and he obliges, drapes her knee over his shoulder.

His tongue traces over her oh-so-slowly, minimizing the noise he makes against her flesh. Kara bites her lip, squirms, digs her nails into her palms, because _gods_. If this didn't feel so good, she'd think Lee was getting back at her for every prank she's ever pulled on him. Torturing her slowly, pleasurably, until she can't breathe anymore.

"--see the president's adviser? Captain Apollo?" The reporter's voice slices into their awareness.

They freeze again. Listen.

Another woman laughs. "I've never properly appreciated the uniform until today."

Kara releases her breath in a short, pitched huff.

Lee begins to draw back, but she hooks her leg around his back, holds him to her. "You owe me," she hisses.

He raises his head enough to give her an irritated look, but returns to his task.

This time, though, he doesn't bother to go slowly.

Kara whimpers at the renewed assault, the delve of his tongue inside of her, the quick roll of it against her clit. She rocks her hips, slides her head back against the partition, all to the accompaniment of the reporters across the room, cataloguing the anatomy of Captain Lee Adama with relish.

When Lee slides two fingers in, swirls his tongue with exactly the right pressure, pushing her over the edge, Kara gives up the ghost.

Moans. Loud, long, drawn out, and when she comes back down, she realizes she's been calling his name.

The silence in the room echoes.

Then, the shuffle of footsteps out the door, and one woman, muttering about someone's bad taste in practical jokes.

Kara slumps against the partition, lets her leg fall from Lee's shoulder.

He stands, sways. "Are we even yet?"

She pulls on her pants, leans against his chest and kisses him. "Maybe." Slides a hand down his stomach, lower, and cups. "Do you want me to--"

He shakes his head. "Can't. There's another meeting after dinner."

Kara chuckles, presses her lips under his jawline. "Don't tell me you're going to go back like this?" She rubs against him, resists the urge to purr. "I don't think that's the kind of salute the president's expecting."

He groans. "Kara, stop."

"Fine." She backs away, raises her hands. "Go."

He looks a little panicked. She doesn't blame him.

"Try thinking about playing pyramid," she suggests. "Or Gaeta's victory dance when he wins a game of cards."

"Not helping."

"Or that one time you walked in on Crash while he was--"

"You know," Lee interrupts, "this would be easier if you weren't here. Looking like that."

"What?" She frowns, tugs at her jacket. "What's wrong with the way I look?"

He runs a hand over his face, then tugs her against him. "You look," he explains, sliding a hand up her back, "like you were moaning my name three minutes ago."

"Oh." She smiles. "Oh."

"So, could you please--"

"All right." She backs off, unlatches the stall door. "After the meeting?"

He nods, closes his eyes. "Absolutely."

She strolls out of the restroom, listens to the sound of his breathing. Before she exits, though, she pauses. "Don't start anything without me."

There's a pause, then, "Ha, ha." He sounds pained.

She laughs, and walks out, into the crowd.

*

 

As coordinator of the conference security, Kara knows exactly when each meeting and meal is scheduled, and where, and who's expected. She knows the name of every guard posted to every room, and she knows protocol for every situation.

That's how she knows, when the clock edges close to midnight, that Lee's been stuck in a policy debate for the last hour and a half.

Her plans for the night did not account for politicians run amok. For the sake of expedience, she decides to break into Lee's quarters. Though, technically, it isn't breaking in if the hatch is open.

"Sloppy security, Adama," she murmurs as she pushes the hatch closed again. Scans the room, both out of cautious habit and curiosity.

While she's been assigned a bunk with the rest of the security grunts, as presidential adviser and ranking military officer, Lee's been given quarters of his own. The room isn't spacious, and it's sparsely furnished. There's a bed, a chair, a closet, and a small adjoining bathroom.

She sits on the bed, notices Lee's dufflebag and nudges it with her toe. Contemplates a quick snoop, but the hatch clanks open, so instead she bends to unlace her boots.

"Kara." Lee gives her a surprised smile, closes and locks the hatch.

"Hey." She tosses her boots in a corner, shrugs out of her jacket. "It's about time."

He grimaces. "Sorry." He sheds his jacket, hangs it in the closet. "There was a big argument about creating a police force. It got messy. They needed me."

"Hm." Kara turns the idea over in her mind, decides to shelve it for later discussion. "Nice place you've got here."

Lee rolls his eyes, acknowledges the change in subject. "It's all right." He grins. "Lots of privacy."

"There is that." She stands, meets him halfway. "So, um." Slides her hands up his arms, traces a line of muscle to his shoulder. "Lose the shirt."

He laughs. Kisses her, instead, and she almost doesn't mind, because he's pretty damn good at this.

His hands slip under her tanks, cup her breasts, and she groans into his mouth. Fumbles with his belt, but he yanks her shirts off, instead. Drags his mouth from hers, down her throat, pausing to lave at her pulse. Then lower, spreading his hands against the small of her back to support her when she arches back.

They ease back until she can prop herself against the bed, and he unfastens her trousers, pulls them off her hips, down her legs, and his mouth never skips off her skin.

When she's completely bare, he guides her to sit on the bed, licks his way up one leg, then back down the other, and she growls. Tries to hook an ankle around his arm, and he dodges, laughs.

She raises herself on her elbows, glares at him. "Stop frakking around, Lee."

He smiles. Brushes the underside of her knee with his thumb, and she twitches, giggles when he does it again, gasps when he turns his head, uses his tongue to trace circles up her thigh, and _oh_.

He's pretty damn good at this, too.

This, however, was not in her plan.

"Lee," she grinds out, hips writhing against his mouth. "Lee, stop it."

He pulls back immediately. "What?"

She grabs his collar, pulls him up until they're face to face. "I have a better idea," she mutters against his lips.

"Actually," he says, and stands, "I distinctly remember you saying I'm not to get any 'jollies' tonight. Isn't that right?"

He smirks, and actually turns away, seats himself in the chair and starts to unlace his boots.

Kara flops onto the bed, stares at the ceiling for a second. "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?"

"Me?" Lee sets his boots under the chair, starts to saunter towards the bathroom. "I don't know what you're--"

But he doesn't get to finish the sentence, because Kara lunges off the bed, grabs him by the shirt, uses her momentum to slam him onto the bed.

"Kara, what--"

She pulls his shirt off, yanks at his belt until it comes loose. Drags his pants off, clambers back onto the bed.

He smirks up at her again as she positions herself over his hips. "Does this mean you change your mind?"

"Shut up, Lee," she says, and reaches between them, strokes, and strokes again. Guides him into her without any more preamble.

The utter blankness of Lee's face is almost satisfying enough.

She rolls her hips against him, grins as his eyes screw shut. "You were saying?"

The muscles in Lee's throat contract, and she bows forward, licks a figure eight on his neck. Slides closer, whispers in his ear.

"We're not even yet."

His eyes fly open to meet hers, and she straightens, rises on her knees. Raises her eyebrows in a silent challenge, and he slides his palms onto her knees, up her thighs. Nods assent.

She sets the pace, a steady shimmy and thrust that's _much_ more agreeable than the last time, if only because she can watch him. The way his hands coast up and down her body, the way his gaze skips from her face, to her breasts, to where his cock plunges into her, and back again.

And once in a while, up to the ceiling, which she thinks is weird. Also strange, she notices, is how evenly he's breathing, considering.

Experimentally, she grinds her hips down and his breath catches, his eyes slide shut.

"Lee?"

His hips buck up, but he doesn't open his eyes.

She laughs, a little jaggedly. "Thinking about playing pyramid?"

He smiles, eyes still closed. "Gaeta's victory dance, actually."

"Ah." She pulls his hands to her hips, waits until his fingers grasp firmly before she leans back, twists her hips, and it's almost enough.

Almost, but not quite, and she decides it's time Lee pulls his fair share.

"Hey." The word comes out in a puff of breath. "Lee."

His hips twitch hard, again, just right, and she gasps. Considers. And says his name again, with the same result.

So she says it again, and again, until his name becomes a litany, a chant, and with every syllable, their hips crash together, and over, and over, and over, until nothing else exists in the universe but him, inside her, and _Lee, oh gods, Lee_

And then she's slumped against his chest, listening to his heart, and she thinks his fingers have left bruises on her hips.

She raises her head, kisses him, long, lingering. Pulls back, slightly, when he smiles against her lips. Sees the question in his eyes, and nods.

"_Now_ we're even."


End file.
